


Daiquiris

by Severina



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-04
Updated: 2007-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-10 11:32:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hey," Justin grins at him from amidst the carnage of banana peels, strawberry husks, half empty bottles of liquor and scattered lime rinds. "We're making daiquiris."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daiquiris

**Author's Note:**

> Post Season Five  
> Written for a QaF Scavenger Hunt on LJ

Brian's meeting with Markson runs late and he's 90 minutes behind as he rides the elevator up to the loft. He loosens his tie and glances at his watch. Markson's endless prattle about his butt-ugly offspring and shrew of a wife have left him, by his calculations, 47 minutes to give Justin the first of many welcome back for the weekend fucks, shower, and make himself look fabulous for a rare night at Babylon. He hopes Justin has had the foresight to pre-lube.

As soon as he slides open the door, he realizes that Justin has found another way to entertain himself while he waits.

"Daphne," Brian manages to grit out, "I didn't know you were in-- shit! What the fuck?"

"Hey," Justin grins at him from amidst the carnage of banana peels, strawberry husks, half empty bottles of liquor and scattered lime rinds. "We're making daiquiris."

"Attempting to make daiquiris," Daphne corrects.

Justin frowns at the mess. "It shouldn't be this hard."

"Speaking of hard," Brian says. He does his best to ignore the complete and utter destruction of the pristine cleanliness of his kitchen island, and reminds himself for the billionth time that the loft and Britin belong to Justin as well as himself. He discards his jacket and presses up against Justin, who leans back to give him a sloppy banana and lime infused kiss.

Half-mast quickly become full steam ahead, and Brian thinks the bed is simply too far away. Justin's first of many welcome home fucks will have to be bent over the stool. There's only one problem…

"Daphne," Brian says, "you look ravishing as always, lovely to see you, now get ou--"

"We've got all the ingredients," Justin says. He slides away from Brian, picks up a glass containing a lumpy, vaguely yellowish substance and takes a swig before wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Brian makes a mental note to steal the shirt out of Justin's luggage and to have every item of clothing in the loft dry cleaned after Justin's visit. "And we're following the directions."

Daphne nods enthusiastically, pigtails bobbing. Brian thinks she looks twelve, and he feels vaguely unsettled about wanting to molest Justin in her presence. Not unsettled enough to actually prevent him from doing it, though.

"They really shouldn't taste like shit," Daphne says.

Brian sighs, slinging an arm around Justin's shoulder. "You," he says, "are an award winning artist. You," he gestures at Daphne, "are… a starving student who knows an award winning artist. If you want a goddamn daiquiri, drive to Woody's and buy one."

"That's not the point!" Justin argues. "I want to make one."

"You're just afraid that everyone at Woody's will point and laugh at your little girly drink."

"True!" Daphne giggles.

Brian amends his initial thought. Daphne looks twelve… and completely fucking smashed.

"Like I give a fuck," Justin snorts. "I drink with Emmett. He's the king of the girly drinks. Drinkers. Whatever."

Brian narrows his eyes. "How many have you had?"

Justin and Daphne share a look.

"Seven?" Daphne tries.

Justin shakes his head, hair flying. It's grown since his last visit. It reminds Brian of late nights, copy machines, the smell of glue in dark alleys, Justin's legs around his waist and the sound of the cleaners down the hall.

Daphne really needs to get the fuck out right now.

"The seventh one was the one that tasted like old gym socks." Justin gestures wildly with a banana, almost swiping Daphne off the bar stool. She doesn't seem to notice. "There was at least one more after that."

"Oh!" Daphne grins giddily. "And the one with the extra triple sec…"

"You went ahead and drank something that tasted like--"

"Well," Justin interrupts, "we're not going to waste them!"

Brian rubs the bridge of his nose. "Of course not," he says. "What was I thinking?"

Justin nudges a battered slice of lime with his index finger. "It really shouldn't be this hard," he says sadly.

Brian knows he could bail. Leave Justin and Daphne to their inept experimentation with tropical fruit and high octane alcohol. Shower and dress and go to Babylon as he'd intended. Get a blowjob from some enthusiastic trick who's thrilled that Brian Kinney has made an appearance at the hottest nightclub in the city. And tomorrow, after he finished vomiting, Justin would be comically contrite and absurdly eager to make up for ruining their plans.

Brian sighs.

"All right, _children_," Brian drawls, snatching up a banana and sliding the rum a little closer to the blender. "Let the expert show you how it's done. And then," he says menacingly to Justin, "you're going to get dressed and we're going to Babylon so I can fuck you in the backroom in front of a crowd of leering jealous fags like god and nature intended."

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, Brian has his shirt sleeves rolled up and a large smear of banana slime on the thigh of his designer slacks.

"For the next one," he slurs, "try a little less lime."


End file.
